The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
rapid current.
"Easy, Bill," cried one of the men.
"Easy it is," said the other.
"You will upset us, my dear madam," said Todd, "if you move;" and then,
while the two men were fully engaged with the boat, and by far too much
occupied with the necessary movements for the preservation of themselves
and their little craft, Todd, with one blow upon the head, struck Mrs.
Lovett overboard.
She uttered a piercing shriek.
"What's that?--what's that?" cried the boatmen.
The boat scraped against the side of the arch for a moment, and then
shot through it with a terrific bound into the comparatively still water
on the other side of the bridge.
"I'm afraid," said Todd, "that the lady has fallen overboard."
"Afraid!" cried one of the watermen. "Why, good God! don't you see she
has; and there she goes, along with the stream. Pull away, Bill; don't
you see her? There she goes!"
"Alas, poor thing!" said Todd.
He affected to be overcome by his feelings, and to be compelled to rest
his head upon his hands, while he kept his hot-looking blood-shot eyes
fixed upon the form of Mrs. Lovett in the water.
And now a scene ensued of deep interest to Todd--a scene which he
watched with the greatest attention. It was a scene upon the issue of
which he felt that his life depended.
If Mrs. Lovett were saved, his life would not be worth an hour's
purchase. If she were drowned, he was, so he fancied, a free man; and he
saw that from the shore several boats put off after her, while the two
men in his wherry pulled as though their lives depended upon hers.
Todd could have struck them for the exertions that they were making, but
he dared not even speak one deprecating word to make them pause. He was
condemned only to watch what was going on; and truly a most interesting
scene it was.
Mrs. Lovett had on a large cloak, and it was by the aid of that, as well
as by the strength of the current, that she floated so long as to make
it quite remarkable, and to induce the opinion in the minds of some of
the spectators that she was swimming.
Suddenly, just as a boat that had put off from the stairs by the Custom
House reached her, down she went.
"Gone!" said Todd.
"Yes, she's gone," said one of the watermen. "She's gone, poor thing,
whoever she was, and no one will get her now."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Ah, master, as sure as may be; but you are a witness that it was no
fault of ours, master."
"Certainly," said Todd. "The fact is, that she got alarmed the moment
the boat shot under the arch, and rose up. I tried to catch her, but she
toppled over into the water."
"Natural enough, sir. If she did get up, over she was sure to go. Did
you hear what a shriek she gave, Bill? My eye, if I don't dream of that,
I'm a Dutchman! I fancy it is ringing in my ears. Yet I have heard a few
odd sounds on the river in my time, but that was the very worst."
"And she is gone," said Todd. "Why does that boat linger there upon the
spot where she went down? Stay--stay, I cannot see if you pull into
shore so quick. Now that barge is between me and the boat."
"There's nothing to see now, sir."
"Well--well. That will do--that will do. Poor creature! Viewing it in
one way, my friends, it's a happy release, for she was a little touched
in her intellect, poor thing; but it's dreadful to lose one to whom you
are much attached; notwithstanding, I shall shed many a tear over her
loss, and of the two I had really much rather it had been myself. Alas!
alas! you see how deeply affected I am!"
"It's no use grieving, sir."
"Not a whit--not a whit. I know that, but I can't help it. Take that and
divide it between you. I give it to you as a kind of assurance that it
is not your fault the poor thing fell overboard."
"Thank your honour," said the man in whose huge palm Todd had placed a
guinea. "We may be asked who you are possibly, sir, if the body should
be found."
"Oh, certainly--certainly," said Todd, "that is well thought of. I am
the Rev. Silas Mugginthorpe, preacher at the new chapel in Little
Britain. Will you remember?"
"Oh, yes sir. All's right."
Todd ascended the slippery steps of the little landing-place with an
awfully demoniac chuckle upon his face, and when he reached the top of
them he struck his breast with his clenched hand, as he said in a voice
of fierce glee--
"'Tis done--'tis done. Ha, ha, ha! 'Tis done. Why, Mrs. Lovett, you have
surely been singularly indiscreet to-day. Ha, ha! Food for fishes, if
fishes can live in the Thames. Ha, ha! Farewell, Mrs. Lovett, a long
farewell to you. So--so you thought, did you, to get the better of
Sweeney Todd? To stick to him like a bear until he should be compelled
to, what you called, settle with you? Well, he has settled with you--he
has! Ha, ha!"
Thus in wild ferocious glee did Todd walk through the city back to his
own house after perpetrating this the worst murder, if there can be at
all degrees in murder, that he had ever done. People got out of his way
as they heard his wild demoniac laugh, and many, after one glance at his
awful face, crossed over to the other side of the street with
precipitation.
"Good-day, Mrs. Lovett," he kept muttering. "A charming day, Mrs.
Lovett, and charmingly you look to-day, only a little swelled and
bloated with the water. You wish me to settle with you? Oh, of course, I
will settle with you before we part. Ha, ha!"
Todd had never been so thoroughly pleased in all his life. More than
once he stopped in the street to laugh, and twice on his route he called
at noted hostels in the city to refresh himself with a glass of
something strong and hot. He fancied that he wore upon his countenance
quite an amiable aspect, and if one can fancy the devil himself looking
sentimental, or an ogre looking religious and humane, we may have some
sort of mixed idea of how Todd looked when he was amiable.
In this blissful condition he reached Fleet Street, and just as he
crossed the way from Ludgate Hill to the top of Fleet Market he was
accosted by a miserable-looking woman in widow's weeds, with a girl in
one hand and a boy in the other. They were begging, that was evident,
for each of the children, and genteel pleasant-looking children they
were, although now dejected by destitution, had upon its breast a little
written paper with the one word, "Want" upon it. That word ought to have
been sufficient to unlock the hearts of the passers by, and yet how the
crowd hurried on!
"Oh, Mr. Todd," said the woman, "can you spare a trifle for the little
ones?"
"Who are you," he said, "that you address me by my name, woman?"
"My name is Cummins, sir. Don't you recollect how my poor husband, John
Cummins, went out one day about a month ago, to carry the watch-cases he
had to polish to his employers, saying that he would call at your shop
and be shaved before he went into the city, and didn't call, sir, as you
kindly told me, but has never been heard of since? The city people will
have it that he ran away; but ah, sir, I know him better. Would he run
away from me and from those that he loved so well? Oh, no--no--no, I
know John better."
CHAPTER XCVIII.
JOHANNA HAS A VISITOR WHILE TODD IS GONE UPON THE RIVER.
"Well?" said Todd.
"Well, sir, I was thinking that--that you might spare a trifle for the
children, sir. They are starving--do you hear, Mr. Todd?--they are
starving, and have no father now."
"What was the value of the watch-cases your husband had with him, Mrs.
Cummins, when he disappeared?"
"About a hundred pounds, sir, they tell me. But don't you believe, sir,
for one moment that John deserted me and these--ah no, sir."
"You really think so?"
"I am sure of it, sir, quite--quite sure of it. He loved me, sir, and
these--he did indeed, sir. You will help us, Mr. Todd--oh, say that you
will do what you can for us."
"Certainly, my good woman--certainly. What is this little fellow's name,
Mrs. Cummins?"
"William--William is his name," said the poor woman, in such a flurry
from the idea of what Todd was going to do for the children that she
could hardly speak, but caught her breath hysterically. "His name is
William, Mr. Todd."
"And this little girl, ma'am?"
"Ann, sir--Ann. That is her name, Mr. Todd. The same, if you please,
sir, as her poor mother's. Look up, Ann, my dear, and courtesy to the
gentleman. God bless you, Mr. Todd, for thinking of me and mine. God
bless you, sir!"
"Ann and William," said Todd, "Ann and William; and very nice children
they are, too, in my opinion, Mrs. Cummins."
"They are good children, sir." Mrs. Cummins burst into tears at the idea
of what Todd was going to do for the children, for the whole of the
parish was impressed with the idea that he was well to do. "They are
very good children Mr. Todd; and although a charge to me, are still a
blessing; for now that John is gone, they seem to hold me to the world,
sir."
"Well, Mrs. Cummins, I am glad you have applied to me, for if you had
not, I certainly should not have known the names of your children. As it
is, however, whenever I pray, I will think of them, and of you; and in
the meantime, I commend you to the care of that Providence which, of
course, cannot permit the widow and the fatherless to want anything in
this world, or the next either."
Todd walked leisurely on.
"Ha! ha!" he laughed. "Good again. What have I to do with charity, or
charity with me? I am at war with all the world, and at war with Heaven,
too, if there be one, which I will not admit! No, no--I will not admit
that."
* * * * *
While Todd was away upon this errand of getting rid of Mrs. Lovett,
which we have seen he has accomplished so much to his satisfaction,
Johanna was not entirely without visitors. The excellent watch that was
kept upon the movements of Todd, in their minutest particular, by Sir
Richard Blunt and his officers, let them know perfectly well that Todd
was from home; but it was not from them that Johanna had her first visit
after Todd was gone.
He had not left the shop above ten minutes when Johanna heard a
mysterious noise outside the door of it. It sounded as if someone were
scraping it with something. At first she felt a little uneasy at the
sound, but as it increased she calmed herself, and resolved upon
ascertaining what it was.
Turning to the door, cautiously she opened it a little way. That was
quite sufficient to dispel any fears that she might have, for the paw of
a dog was immediately thrust through the opening; and when upon this
Johanna opened the door freely, Hector, with a loud bark, dashed into
the shop.
So fierce was the dog's demeanour, that Johanna shrank aside, but master
Hector saw with half an eye that he had frightened her, so he went up to
her, and licked her hand in token of amity, after which he barked loudly
at the shop, as though he would have said, "Mind though I am friends
with you, I am still the uncompromising foe of all else in this place."
"Alas poor dog," said Johanna as the tears rushed to her eyes, "you will
never see your master again."
The young girl's grief for the loss of her lover seemed all to be roused
up freshly from the depths of her heart at this appearance of the dog,
which she had some reason to believe had been the companion of Mark
Ingestrie. She sat down upon the little stool by the fire, and covering
face with her hands, she wept bitterly.
In the meantime, Hector, finding that Todd was not there to do battle
with him, made up his mind for a grand rummage in the shop; and truly he